Evolution
by lux beata
Summary: Everyone's always writing about how Rachel comforts Quinn in her time of need. What if Quinn were the one comforting Rachel? Pre-series, Babygate never happened, Quinn's not even in Glee. Preslash Faberry, mentions Brittana! Don't like slash don't read!
1. Act One: The Way We Were

**Title:** Evolution

**Author:** Lucy

**Pairing: **Rachel/Quinn

**Rating: **PG for swears, nothing else

I love hearing when people like my stories, but I also like hearing what people like about them specifically :) and feedback is love, so love me, okay?

Part One  
The first slushy didn't change anything. Quinn was walking down the hallway, not necessarily looking for Rachel Berry, but when she spotted the brunette, she seemed as good a target as any. Quinn tossed the grape slushy in Rachel's face and smirked at the nice contrast between the purple ice and the green the girl had chosen to wear that day. The colors clashed horribly, making the slushying all the more delicious in Quinn's eyes.

Rachel headed for the bathroom to clean herself off, and waited until she got home to cry.

Quinn walked on.

The second slushy happened just like the first, only this time it was cherry. In the middle of a heated debate with Santana, Quinn didn't even have to think, dousing Rachel in slushy as they walked past, not even sparing a second look as she continued to extol the merits of red long sleeved shirts under their uniforms as a contrast to their usual white. Rachel was wearing white today, and in the back of her head Quinn knew that the red of the slushy had completely ruined the clothes - that stain would never come out. There would always be, however faded, a pink reminder of that particular moment of that particular day, of Quinn arguing with Santana and not even really caring, just throwing her slushy at Rachel out of habit.

Rachel headed for the bathroom to clean herself off, and waited until she got home to cry.

Quinn walked on.

The third was green. Quinn remembers that for once in a way, the slushy actually didn't clash with the hideousness Rachel insisted on wearing, but that didn't stop her throwing it in the brunette's face regardless. It was sort of a shame, Quinn remembers, because lime is her favorite flavor, but the habit of buying a slushy to throw at someone rather than drink is too ingrained to stop just because she likes lime flavored ice.

Rachel headed for the bathroom to clean herself off, but the tears came whether she was ready for them or not.

Quinn walked on, but not before she'd seen the tears.

The fourth slushy wasn't Quinn.

The fourth time was Karofsky, and the slushy was blue raspberry, and Quinn had nothing to do with it. She watched it happen, knew it was going to happen, and did nothing to stop it. Karofsky cackled loudly, slapping his friends five. He didn't look twice at Rachel. He didn't care about what he'd just done.

Slamming her locker shut, Quinn stalked up to Rachel, and saw the girl flinch as if she expected a second slushy attack, and Quinn supposed she couldn't blame her. But Quinn didn't have a slushy in her hands this time. Tossing the soft, clean towel she'd brought from home specially for this in Rachel's face, she made sure her sneer was firmly in place before she spoke. "Go and clean yourself up, Man Hands."

She hoped that was sufficiently harsh enough that no one thought she'd gone soft all of a sudden.

Rachel clutched the towel close to her, breathing in the scent of Quinn's fabric softener, and stared after the blond as she walked off down the hallway without a second glance.

This time when she got home, the tears didn't last quite as long.

Part Two  
The towel had been completely unnecessary, of course. Rachel had carried a spare outfit, towel and toiletries enough for at least two slushy attacks every day since the second day of freshman year. But the towels Rachel brings from home don't seem nearly as fluffy, or smell nearly as good, as the soft blue towel that hit her gently in the face that day. So she left her towel in her locker, and took the Quinn towel with her to the bathroom.

Rachel didn't know why Quinn had thrown a towel at her. She analyzed it for the rest of the day, testing theories in her head - the throwing in of the towel usually signified a defeat, a cease of attack, but that certainly didn't seem to be the case in this instance. Rachel was fairly certain that the day Quinn Fabray threw a _metaphorical _towel would be the day Rachel made it all the way to the final bell without suffering a slushy to the face.

And yes, she still cried herself to sleep after her MySpace video was safely posted and gathering the usual hatemail from the Cheerios. She hated that her life had to be so hard, even though adversity often turned out the most amazing stars. She knew that one day when she wrote her tell all autobiography, the tale of her teenage years was sure to push her popularity up immeasurably (though by the time she was ready to write her autobiography, she knew, she was already going to be famous, on Broadway, and loved by young and old. This would, you know, just push her over the top). But knowing all that didn't help her now. She wasn't famous, wasn't even popular. She was just a sad little girl who had drawn the short straw in life, and it hurt.

But tonight there was a blue towel, with a couple of green patches on it, lying next to her head that made the hurt not quite so bad. When she inhaled she could still smell the blond's fabric softener. She pulled it close to her face so she could breathe in the scent as she fell asleep.

The next day Rachel brought Quinn's towel, freshly laundered (which was a shame, sort of, because now it smelled like Rachel and not like Quinn) and placed it neatly in her locker to return to Quinn at her earliest convenience.

The slushy beat her to it.

Gasping, covered in purple (it was grape again today, which was at least her favorite flavor to lick off her lips, even if it was her least favorite to get out of her shirts), this time the towel hit her in the face before she had even had a chance to notice Quinn anywhere in the vicinity.

"Go fix yourself, RuPaul."

It wasn't until she was rubbing her hair dry with the Quinn-scented towel that she realized, the first Quinn towel was still sitting neatly on top of her Algebra book in her locker. Quinn had brought a second towel. Quinn was... well, still a bitch, because she'd done nothing to stop the slushies. But she seemed to be at least attempting to help the situation. Rachel was happy to take what she could get.

Slushy free and dry, she retrieved the clean Quinn towel from her locker, walking cautiously over to where the blonde stood chatting animatedly with Santana and Brittany. Brittany was the first to see her coming and gave a half smile at her approach. Santana sneered openly, looking like she'd smelled something horrible (at least Rachel knew she didn't _really _smell, since she was fresh from the shower) and Quinn looked...

Rachel didn't have a word for Quinn's expression. It wasn't completely hostile like Santana, but it wasn't approaching friendly, like Brittany. It was sort of... sad.

The myriad speeches Rachel had prepared and rejected in her head for this moment, the returning of the towel, evaporated into mist and she opened and shut her mouth a few times, saying nothing. Santana and Brittany looked from Rachel to Quinn, wondering what was going on, waiting for an explanation. When none was forthcoming, Brittany took Santana by the arm and tugged her gently away, sensing in her intuitive way that Santana's glowering presence wasn't helping Rachel get out whatever she needed to get out.

Alone in the hallway now, Rachel held out the towel. "Thank you," she said, possibly the shortest and simplest thing she'd said since she first gained the ability to string a real sentence together at the age of two.

Quinn took the towel, shoving it in her locker roughly. "Whatever," she snapped, looking around to check if anyone was watching. No one was, and she slumped a little, closing her eyes as she sighed. "I'm..." she began, but stopped herself, because being Quinn Fabray meant never having to say you were sorry, _especially _to Rachel Berry. "You're welcome," she settled on, her voice barely audible, and she brushed quickly past Rachel and walked away.

Rachel inhaled, smelling not just the fabric softener the girl used on her laundry, but Quinn's shampoo and her perfume and oh, good grief. It figured that she would develop a crush on the meanest girl in school (not counting Santana) as soon as said girl showed the slightest sign of humanity.

Part Three  
It would have been so simple to just stop the slushy attacks altogether. Santana was like a popularity mercenary, lending her fists to whatever cause would propel her highest up the food chain, and Quinn currently topped the food chain. One word in Santana's ear and the entire population of the school would be too scared to throw another slushy.

But that would be too easy, and it would also make Quinn look weak, and she just couldn't afford that. So for now, she stuck with the towels. One, two, three, four, a whole week worth of towels brought to school and tossed in Rachel Berry's face. It made Quinn feel better about herself in a way, feel like she was helping. And the towels still counted as a projectile, so she wasn't losing much of her street cred.

She spent the week watching Rachel. She told herself that she was watching for slushy attacks, for the moment when she could step in and throw the towel and a fresh insult, but really by the second or third time she was watching Rachel's eyes. It sort of shocked Quinn to see the pain in them. She'd never taken the time to really look at Rachel, to see past the verbosity and the abrasive overconfidence. Quinn started to almost feel guilty. Almost. The worst, though, was the look on Rachel's face when she returned the freshly laundered towel. Quinn couldn't help but notice the flicker of hope in them, hope that things might be getting better for her.

Two or three times during the week Quinn approached Santana with the intent of making the slushies stop, only to back out at the last minute and pretend to need to talk about warm up techniques or hair care tips.

Every time Rachel returned a towel, Quinn had to see that hope and gratitude, and it made her stomach twist in an unpleasant way. She didn't want Rachel to be grateful. She wished she'd never decided to do anything, because it was making her life more complicated than she wanted it to be. She never set out to be someone's perceived savior. She was the head cheerleader, the top of the pyramid, the leader of the pack. She had no desire to be the champion of the downtrodden.

But by Friday when the slushy hit Rachel's face, and Quinn threw the towel, she didn't just watch Rachel walk away to her locker and then into the bathroom. She followed her.

She didn't say anything, just stood there as Rachel took off her sweater and placed beside the sink, turning on the taps and leaning down to run her hair under the water. She hadn't noticed Quinn standing there watching her, just went through her clean up routine.

Rachel's eyes were closed and there was a dampness on her face that hadn't come from the tap. Eyes still closed, she reached the her towel – _Quinn's _towel - and patted her face down. A barely audible sob, muffled by the towel, escaped Rachel's throat.

Heaving a silent sigh, Quinn crossed the floor and took the towel from Rachel's hands, ignoring Rachel's start of alarm, and beginning to dry the brunette's hair.

Neither spoke.

Part Four  
Of course, the first time Quinn dried Rachel's hair for her, Rachel didn't know what to think. Unfortunately, her years of persecution had pretty much taught her to be suspicious of anything, despite her outward bravado. So the first time Quinn dried Rachel's hair for her, she sat stiff and silent, stuck somewhere between terrified and grateful.

Saturday and Sunday did nothing to help her figure out what exactly was going on. And Saturday and Sunday were, as always, a blessing and a curse. It was a relief to have time outside of her personal Hell. It was also hard to enjoy that time with the knowledge that she would have to go back on Monday, hanging over her head like a guillotine poised to fall.

But Monday was much like Friday. Slushy, towel, Quinn in the bathroom with her silently drying her hair. Rachel still didn't trust it, but it was happening anyway, and there seemed to be no ill will behind this particular action. As the week went by, Rachel relaxed more and more into Quinn's touch. The blonde had no small amount of skill at this task, her hands gentle but firm, efficient but somehow kind.

By Thursday Rachel was almost welcoming the slushy attack, knowing what would follow. Letting her eyes slip closed, she sighed softly. Rachel had a very sensitive scalp, and loved having her hair played with in any way, shape or form, not that anyone had ever bothered to find that out. And Quinn certainly had no way of knowing it.

By far the most astounding thing in all this for Quinn, was that Rachel hadn't said a single word throughout any of their little clean up sessions. For someone who seemed to enjoy the sound of their own voice the way Rachel did, that must have been no small effort. But it made it easier for Quinn to do kind things for her when she wasn't making it so obvious that it was _her_.

On Friday, the towel slipped to the floor, but Quinn didn't stop, running her fingers through Rachel's dark hair, unconsciously smoothing out the tangles with her bare hands. She had drifted off into her own thoughts of inadequacy, fear and confusion, and hadn't noticed the towel slipping from her grip. So when Rachel accidentally let out a contented purr Quinn froze.

"Did... did you just _purr_?" she asked, breaking their week long silence with her horrified tone. Rachel froze, face red, and frantically tried to think of a way to explain her way out of it. There was none.

"No, I... it feels nice... I'm sorry!" She felt Quinn's fingers jerk out of her hair. "Please don't stop," she said quietly, wondering why it was exactly that she felt the need to apologize, when it was Quinn who had been the bitch for so long.

Quinn's brain told her to sneer, to snap a retort, turn on her heel and stalk out. Quinn's fingers acted without her brain's permission, threading back through Rachel's hair. "We're not friends, Man Hands," she reminded Rachel roughly, but her usual bite was lacking in her tone.

"I know."

Quinn would never admit this to anyone, but Rachel has really nice hair. It's long, dark, impossibly glossy even after countless dousing in slushy (or perhaps because of them. It gets washed, like, twice a day). And it's so soft, it feels good to have her fingers in it. What doesn't feel good is the idea that Rachel likes what she's doing, and that wasn't ever part of Quinn's plan. Not that she had a plan to begin with.

When they leave the bathroom, Quinn approaches Santana. On Monday, there's no slushy attack. Nor is there one on Tuesday, or Wednesday, or any day after that.

Part Five  
With no slushy attacks in the morning, Rachel didn't quite know what to do with herself.

She still brought a change of clothing and all her toiletries to school with her every day. She didn't think enough of the student body that they would stop all together. She suspected this to be something of a slushy hiatus, and she was half waiting for the new "season" of slushy attacks to begin. They never did, though.

And with no slushy attacks in the morning, there was no towel tossed at her. No washing her hair and Quinn drying it with those magic hands of hers. In fact, Quinn hadn't been anywhere near her in days. It was like she was actively avoiding her, and normally Rachel would have been fine with that. The problem was the last towel.

She'd been trying to give it back ever since the purring incident - she'd taken it home, inhaled the fragrance of fabric softener for what she didn't know would be the last time, and washed it - but with Quinn avoiding her, she hadn't had a chance. Something in her wouldn't let her just leave it with one of the other Cheerios. Some urge that flew directly in the face of rational self preservation was telling her to give it back in person.

Her chance came almost an entire week after their last encounter. Leaving Glee rehearsal, Rachel spotted Quinn walking past the room by herself. Obviously the blond hadn't know Rachel would be there, or she would have planned her route more carefully... whatever. This was Rachel's chance, and she took it.

"Quinn," she said softly, stepping forward. "I, um..." she trailed off and held the towel out, in a way that was sort of halfway between a peace offering and a shield. "I wanted to thank you, for... you know. It was nice, the way you helped me. And I know it was you who made them stop. I just... Why?"

Quinn narrowed her eyes and took the towel, choosing her words carefully. "I don't _like _you, Rachel. You're loud and obnoxious and you make people want to shove a sock down your throat every time you open your mouth. But... you didn't deserve that." _And I didn't like the person you made me think I had to be, _she thought but didn't say.

"Well, thank you," Rachel repeated, looking Quinn dead in the eye in a way that made her slightly uncomfortable. The two of them stood, staring each other down, completely alone in the hallway.

Inwardly, Rachel laughed to herself. She couldn't help but think that if this had been one of those hackneyed romantic comedies, that she and Quinn would have probably done something dramatic like grab each other and kiss each other senseless. Rachel wasn't that stupid - Quinn was barely tolerating breathing the same air as her, and she knew it, and there was no way that any kissing between them was going to happen.

Not that she hadn't thought about it. She'd known she was developing a crush on Quinn since the second towel day, and she'd sort of made her peace with the situation. She and her fathers had always had a frank and open relationship, and from a young age she'd been taught to think of love as something that was between two people - not a man and a woman or two men or two women, two _people_. They'd discussed the persecution Rachel was likely to face for having two dads, and they'd made sure to tell Rachel that if she felt attracted to someone, be they man, woman, or other, it would be okay, because love is always acceptable. So Rachel was fine with the idea of liking a girl. It was the idea of liking _Quinn Fabray _that didn't sit easily with her.

Now that the silence between them had been broken once, Rachel was loathe to let it settle in again. She opened her mouth to speak, but what came out shocked her a little.

"Do you want to have dinner at my house tonight?"

Quinn was all set to snort and decline, so what came out of _her _mouth shocked both of them.

"Fine."

Part Six  
When Hiram and Leroy Berry had brought Rachel home for the first time, they imagined a lot of things for their daughter. Fame, fortune, wealth - what parents don't want those things for their child? And of course they wished her happiness and love, and success in any and all of her endeavors.

Throughout the years they worked hard to make those dreams a reality for Rachel. Both men worked full time but both made a huge effort to be around. Rachel never wanted for someone to talk to or someone to play with, because either her Dad or her Daddy were around all the time. She was never lonely as long as she was at home, in the loving arms of her family.

One of the most important things Rachel's fathers impressed upon her during her formative years, was part of the Declaration of Independence - "that all men are created equal". That no one was better than any other person for any reason, that no one deserved to be persecuted for something they believed, or someone they loved. Perhaps it was this grounding in the theory of equality that made it so difficult for Rachel to comprehend the politics of high school. For someone who knew nothing other than the idea of all men being created equal, high school's hierarchy was a bewildering and altogether foreign concept.

And throughout the years of Rachel's schooling Hiram and Leroy had had to deal with Rachel coming home in tears, sobbing into their shoulders about football players and cheerleaders and slushies (and they hadn't even known what a slushy was until the first day their daughter had come home covered in one). It broke their hearts to see their dreams of happiness for Rachel seemingly falling apart, and they weren't ashamed to admit that they sometimes cried for their daughter's torment.

When Rachel came home from school with a pretty blond cheerleader, Hiram and Leroy were instantly wary. Was this not the very person Rachel had come crying about only a couple of weeks ago? And more than wary, they were a little sad for Rachel, sad that their constant teachings on equality and forgiveness had led Rachel to bring this girl here, in a move that was more than likely going to end badly for the brunette and probably lead to even more tears.

To their credit, though, Hiram and Leroy were nothing but polite and warm to Quinn as she stood hesitantly on the threshold.

Rachel hadn't been naive enough to think that her fathers wouldn't question Quinn's presence for dinner, but she trusted enough in them that they wouldn't make a scene until after Quinn was gone. With that peace of mind, she was free to focus on Quinn and her reactions to the Berry household, and the impeccable Berry hospitality.

Quinn, for her part, was telling herself she'd only agreed to come to dinner to check out where the enemy lived, to gather information for the next assault on Rachel's psyche. A reconnaissance mission, as it were. Five minutes in Rachel's house were enough to change her mind. She spent those minutes wide eyed, fussed over by Rachel's fathers taking her coat and bag and setting them on the hall stand, inviting her to sit down, offering her a drink. She accepted a glass of soda, and it was rushed out to her, ice clinking invitingly in the glass and a straw and little umbrella sitting in the top (Rachel obviously got her over the top nature right here at home).

The house was immaculate, but warm, tidy, but obviously lived in. The very walls spoke volumes on love and acceptance, covered as they were in photos of the three Berrys in various settings and poses. Quinn looked for a long time at what was clearly a professional shot, of the two Berry men with a younger Rachel between them - she looked maybe thirteen, fourteen? Her eyes shone with laughter and good humor as she looked up at her dads, their arms around her, and Quinn realized she'd never seen Rachel so happy.

With a twist in her stomach, she thought she might like to see it again.

Realistically, dinner was awkward. None of the four had expected otherwise. Rachel sat quietly, and Quinn would have done the same if Hiram and Leroy had given her the chance. They were overly enthusiastically engaging her in conversation, and though it was forced on their part to begin with, they managed to get a genuine smile from Quinn as the main course was finishing up.

Rachel herself brought out dessert. It was just simple root beer floats, but Quinn's eyes lit up despite herself. She hadn't had a root beer float since she became a Cheerio. Coach Sylvester wouldn't allow it.

Though many would have considered the dinner to be the main event of the evening, the real main event was when Rachel said goodnight to Quinn, her fathers lingering protectively just out of sight. "Thank you for coming," she said quietly.

Quinn regarded her curiously. "Why did you invite me? I've been so..."

Rachel shrugged her shoulders. "You stopped."

"I had a nice time."

After a long period of silence, Quinn took a step forward. Rachel flinched back involuntarily, and Quinn winced. It was her own fault that she invoked that reaction in the brunette. Her memory flashed back to the photograph of the happy, laughing Rachel, and she steeled her nerve. Slowly, hesitantly, she reached out a hand to shake. Rachel took it, and they shook hands awkwardly. Then, with a sigh, Rachel tightened her grip on Quinn's hand.

Pulled her in.

They hugged. 


	2. Act Two: The Way Things Could Be

**Title: **Evolution

**Author:** Lucy

**Pairing: **Rachel/Quinn

**Rating: **PG for swears, nothing else

I love hearing when people like my stories, but I also like hearing what people like about them specifically :) and feedback is love, so love me, okay?

Part Seven  
Later, Rachel would look on this moment as the beginning of the end. Or was it the end of the beginning?

Quinn was stiff at first, her arms kept loosely by her side, but Rachel squeezed gently, and slowly Quinn responded. And Rachel couldn't help the way she inhaled deeply - she hadn't had a chance to smell that scent in over a week, and she had been missing it. Her eyes closed, and she resigned herself to the fact that not only had her crush on Quinn not diminished, it had grown more than she realized.

Experiencing unexpected full body contact with a girl she kept telling herself she hated, Quinn couldn't understand why her body was reacting the way it was. Her arms had crept up to embrace Rachel without conscious effort on her part - but she told herself that that was the natural reaction to a hug, and she had hugged Brittany and Santana enough times for it to be muscle memory - and there was that twist in her belly again. But this time the twist wasn't guilt.

And when she realized what the twist _was_, her eyes shot wide open, and she wrenched herself free from Rachel's embrace.

"I have to go," she stammered, stumbling backwards before turning on her heel and all but running to her car.

Rachel watched her go, watched until the car had sped out of sight, then stepped back inside and closed the door.

Hiram and Leroy were full of questions. Who exactly was Quinn to Rachel? What part had she played in the torment? Why had Rachel brought her over? What was Rachel hoping to achieve? Rachel couldn't answer any of them, and she found she didn't want to. It was unusual for her, but she didn't really want to be talking to her dads right then. All she really wanted to do was go up to her room and think about Quinn and how soft and warm she felt.

It took her a long time to get to sleep that night.

And in her house, Quinn took even longer to get to sleep.

In the morning, Saturday morning, Quinn stared at her cellphone. She had Rachel's number. Every single Cheerio and football player, and most of the hockey team, had Rachel's number. They'd got a hold of it freshman year, and used it to make many a hilarious and diverting prank call on her, some crueler than others, most crueler than Quinn cared to admit.

She stared at the entry in her cellphone's contact list. MAN HANDS, it read, and she hit Edit. Erased MAN HANDS and keyed in RACHEL. Fingers poised above the buttons, she debated the merits of sending Rachel a text message.

"We're not friends," she told herself out loud, more than once that Saturday.

Sunday saw her doing the same thing, after church and a sermon on loving thy neighbor.

DO U WANT TO HANG OUT she keyed in, but erased it before she could succumb to the urge to send it. IM SORRY she keyed in, but erased that too. HEY RACHEL WHAT U UP TO she keyed in, then erased _that_. In the end she tossed her phone onto the bed and flopped back onto the pillows, huffing in disgust at herself and her indecision. She allowed herself to think about the one thing she'd been avoiding thinking about all weekend - the way Rachel had felt when they hugged. Soft, warm... and she'd made Quinn feel sort of tingly. She really wanted to feel those tingles again, and not think about what they meant.

On Monday, there was no slushy attack, and Quinn smiled shyly at Rachel as they passed in the hallway.

Part Eight  
Shy smiles turned more confident over the course of the next two weeks, and gradually they were accompanied by little casual waves, and even, towards the end of the two weeks, by quiet greetings. Quinn was finding out that it felt so much nicer to be good than it did to be horrible.

Santana noticed.

There was no way she was letting it go without calling Quinn on her change of heart, so she cornered the blond one day and demanded answers. "What's up with you and the yeti?"

Quinn did her best impression of wide eyed and innocent, and denied any change, and though Santana loosened her grip, Quinn knew she wasn't convinced. So later, Quinn didn't smile when she passed Rachel, she kept her face neutral and blanked the brunette.

It didn't feel good. Quinn made a conscious effort to shake Santana after that, and went in search of Rachel. She found the singer alone in the music room and entered, shutting the door behind her. Rachel looked up, startled - she hadn't expected any company.

"Look, I'm sorry about today," Quinn said quickly, before she lost her nerve. "I know I've been better, and I don't want things to go back to the way they used to be, but Santana was giving me shit about being nice to you, so I had to shut her up somehow..."

"It's okay," Rachel cut her off softly. "I understand." She didn't, not really. Quinn had never struck her as the sort of person who wasn't strong enough to stand up for what they believed in. There again, Santana was pretty daunting, and Rachel wasn't sure she could stand up to the Latina either.

"I want to make it up to you," Quinn insisted impulsively, and Rachel finally looked her in the eye, and there was that look again, that look of hope and gratitude that _did things _to Quinn's stomach. She moved around the piano and sat next to Rachel on the bench, rather closer than she had originally intended, and watched Rachel's eyes flutter close as she inhaled.

"We're having Movie Night tonight," Rachel managed to say. "It's my turn to pick the movie, so I can pick something you like. That is, if you wanted to come over and watch a movie with me and my dads."

Quinn sighed. "I do want to, but coming over to your house and imposing on your time and eating your food isn't _making it up to you _for the way I've been."

"It's a start," Rachel smiled. Tentatively, she brought her arms up, wondering if Quinn would allow a hug. She was surprised when Quinn leaned in immediately, their embrace a lot more natural than the first.

Quinn let the hug linger rather longer than she would with Santana or Brittany, just enjoying the warmth of Rachel and how soft she was. She wasn't so oblivious that she didn't know Rachel was inhaling her scent, that she'd done it before, so she allowed herself to follow suit - subtly, of course. "Your hair smells really good," she whispered, barely loud enough to reach Rachel's ears.

Rachel pulled back just enough to look Quinn in the eye, and the two regarded each other seriously for a long moment. "Thank you," she finally said, a faint blush rising in her cheeks.

Finding it harder and harder to ignore the feeling in her belly, Quinn leaned in a little. Rachel leaned back, away from Quinn, and pulled out of the hug. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Nothing."

There was a tension between them that hadn't been there before, and Quinn was pretty sure it was due to the fact that out of the blue, she had really wanted to kiss Rachel. Not that Rachel could have known that. She hoped. "So should I bring anything? Tonight?" she asked in an attempt to change the subject.

"We've got it covered," Rachel replied, regarding Quinn quizzically.

"Well, I'll see you tonight then," Quinn said, getting up and leaving the room quickly. Not for the first time, Rachel watched the blond retreat, wondering what the hell was happening between them.

Part Nine  
Rachel couldn't remember ever being nervous about a movie night.

She'd picked Grease - one of her favorites, one of her dads' favorites, and one that Quinn seemed to be at least mildly enthusiastic about. She'd picked out lots of different kinds of snacks, with three low or non fat options for Quinn. She'd arranged the food, the soda, and plates and glasses within easy reach of the couch. The couch! She knew her dads would sit on that, which left one seat left on it, so either Quinn would sit with her dads and feel horribly uncomfortable, or Rachel would sit with her dads and leave Quinn sitting in the armchair by herself, feeling horribly uncomfortable... Rachel set up a few cushions on the floor in a way that made it obvious the two girls would sit together on them.

Now all that was left to do was wait for Quinn to show up, which she did, right on time, holding a couple of bottles of soda even though Rachel had _told _her not to bring anything.

"Hi," she greeted the three Berrys. "Rachel wouldn't tell me what I could bring, so I hope this is okay..."

Hiram and Leroy, skeptical the first time Quinn had come over, were much more relaxed this time, and they cooed and fussed over Quinn and her offering like she'd brought cognac, caviar, and gold plated cigars. They ushered her inside, sat her down on a cushion and offered her first pick of all the snacks and Rachel, watching the display, felt a fresh surge of affection for the two men. They might not have known _why _this girl was important to Rachel, but they knew she _was_, and that was enough for them.

She made her way over to the cushions and sat down, careful not to sit too close to Quinn. She didn't want to give the wrong impression, after all. Just because she was hugely crushing on this girl still didn't make it a good idea to give Quinn possible ammunition - Rachel still had a small amount of distrust for the blond, though it was decreasing daily.

And yet, though Rachel was careful to put at least a little distance between them, as the movie began, Quinn scooched a little closer anyway, until they were close enough that their arms were pressed together. Rachel dared to sneak a glance over at Quinn, but she was studiously watching Danny declare his undying love for Sandy.

Not even ten minutes later Rachel got a shock as she realized Quinn was singing along softly with Sandy during "Summer Nights." And she was _good_. Making a mental note to try and recruit her for glee club, Rachel began to sing too, taking Danny's part. Rachel's dads looked down at the girls with no small amount of amusement in their expressions, but said nothing.

It wasn't this warm in her own house, Quinn reflected. Not that it wasn't a suitable temperature, the expensive heating system and plenty of insulation ensured that they stayed toasty in the winter. It just wasn't this... warm, this cozy. Quinn thought about her mother, who was always drinking, or her father, who if he wasn't working (and that was rare enough) was editorializing about the state of youth today or pressuring Quinn to do more, achieve more, be more. And the more she thought, the more Quinn really didn't want to go home, but wanted to stay in the Berry house just a little longer. It didn't even have anything to do with... whatever it was she was starting to feel for Rachel (which she still didn't want to think about).

But the movie ended, the snacks were gone, the last drops of soda slurped up through the cheesy spiral Disney Princess straws (Quinn couldn't believe Rachel even had them, but she was secretly tickled pink at being presented with her glass and seeing the Sleeping Beauty straw). Quinn stood up, slowly, regretfully, and stretched out her muscles. Rachel stood too, to walk her to the door, and this time when they hugged it was more fluid, more natural than either of their two previous hugs.

There was no way Quinn was going to _ask _if she could come again, because Quinn Fabray didn't _ask _for anything from Rachel Berry. But, when Rachel invited her to come to the next movie night, Quinn pretended like she had to think about it - she didn't want to look too eager - then agreed.

When Quinn got home, her father wasn't there. Her mother looked to be on her fourth or fifth drink of the evening. "Daddy's working late, you'll have to make your own dinner, I'm going to bed. Say your prayers," was all Judy Fabray said, and it was on her way up the stairs, leaving Quinn alone in the entryway.

Quinn went up to her own room, closed the door behind herself, undressed and crawled into bed. The last thing she saw before she went to sleep was the framed painting of Jesus, looking at her with his impassive expression, reminding her that even if she did think she was starting to like Rachel _like__ that_, it was wrong.

Part Ten  
Even though she still hadn't worked up the courage to text Rachel, Quinn was getting closer and closer to it every day. She'd been thinking a lot about her status at high school, and about the bible and Jesus and loving thy neighbor, and also about Rachel. Quinn really did want to make amends for her behavior toward Rachel, she knew that if nothing else. The easy explanation was, she wanted to be friends with the brunette, and working under that assumption Quinn formulated a plan of sorts.

It wasn't complicated, nor was it the color coded, bullet pointed, double spaced and indented monstrosity that she was sure Rachel would have come up with. No, Quinn's plan was very simple.

Be Nice To Rachel.

She started small. She knew she had to start small - starting big would not only freak Rachel out, but it would give her nowhere to go from there, and most importantly, it would get her noticed by people who were already beginning to look at her sideways (namely Santana). So Quinn started small - tiny, really. She held a door open for Rachel as they left Spanish.

It was easier than Quinn had imagined, to do little nice things for Rachel. Spurred on by the success of the door holding, Quinn lent Rachel a pencil in math, and sat back, feeling proud of herself. She told herself that was enough for one day.

The next day she scowled at a football player who called Rachel "tranny". It didn't matter that until a couple of weeks ago, that had been one of Quinn's favorite names for Rachel, she didn't say that anymore, and she didn't think anyone else should, either. In Math when Rachel tried to return the pencil Quinn had lent her, Quinn said "it doesn't matter, keep it," and considered that her two nice things for the day.

And all the while she was smiling and greeting Rachel in the halls, not overly enthusiastically of course, but acknowledging Rachel's presence in a non combative way that she hadn't done before all this had begun.

The act of thinking up nice things to do that wouldn't be overtly noticeable was a wonderful way to keep her mind from analyzing her feelings. The tingles in her stomach weren't going away, and intellectually she knew what the tingles were.

She used to feel them for Finn, in the beginning, when he'd worked so hard to get her to go out with him. It had taken him a good couple of weeks to woo her to the point where she had agreed to their first date, even though maybe ten days of that had been her playing hard to get at her friends' insistence. The feeling of someone wanting her in a romantic sense had given Quinn her first taste of the tingles, and at first she'd felt them every time Finn was near, every time he'd take her hand or tell her she was beautiful, every time they kissed. Over time they'd faded into a warm sort of feeling. Quinn had missed the tingles.

She didn't like the idea of Rachel – a girl - being the one to bring them back into her life, and thinking about ways she could make up for being a heinous bitch to Rachel kept her from thinking about ways she could get closer to the brunette.

It had been a roller coaster ride at school for Rachel the last month or so. She'd gone from having slushies thrown at her every day, sometimes more than once, to having the head cheerleader help her clean up, to having no more slushies, to... Well. She wasn't sure exactly _where _she stood now, but she knew it was better than where she'd been a month ago. And she _had _noticed Quinn changing – the tiny, miniscule things she was doing wouldn't have been a big deal to anyone else, but Rachel was sort of aware that even Quinn not insulting her would raise eyebrows. Yes, Rachel had noticed.

But so had Santana.

Part Eleven  
Santana thought of herself and Quinn in terms of Paris Geller and Rory Gilmore. There was no way Paris would have attained the position of student body president and the associated power, if she hadn't had Rory running with her. Rory had been the face of things, the person that people liked and voted for. Quinn was Santana's Rory. Santana knew she couldn't maintain her position of popularity and power without Quinn, so Quinn jeopardizing things the way she was was completely unacceptable.

And as much as the general population of McKinley High thought of Quinn Fabray as their queen bee and leader, Quinn herself knew the truth. She might be the face on the school's monarchy, but Santana Lopez was, always had been and always would be the driving force and the mastermind behind it. Much as Santana might feel like she was riding Quinn's coattails to success, Quinn often felt it was the other way around.

Both of them knew where they stood. So when Santana cornered Quinn in an empty math classroom one afternoon, Quinn had the good sense not to fight it. After all, Santana was a force to be reckoned with.

"There's something going on between you and RuPaul." Santana's calm voice was even scarier than her angry voice, and Quinn tried not to show a reaction.

"No there isn't," she lied as best she could, but she already knew there wasn't much point.

"Cut the crap, Q," Santana snapped. "You know as well as I do that each moment you're breathing the same air as that yeti, your real estate is plummeting. And if you go down, I go down with you, and that is _not _happening while I have breath left in my body."

"There's nothing going on between us, S," she said in the most convincing voice she could muster (which wasn't very convincing at all). "Stubbles and I are about as close as you and Jacob Ben Israel."

With narrowed eyes, Santana regarded Quinn, and Quinn found herself cringing under the scrutiny. "You're lying," she said finally. "What, are you gay for her now? I thought you were still with Finn. How's he going to like hearing that his girlfriend is cheating on him with the biggest loser in school?"

All the color drained from Quinn's face. She knew she just wasn't strong enough to stick her neck out and risk angering Santana. Being popular, being a Cheerio, having Finn, that was all Quinn knew, and the idea of losing that and facing the unknown terrified her. Perhaps Santana had just been being sarcastic with her little "gay" jibe, but whether she knew it or not, it had hit home in a way Quinn wasn't ready to face.

Then there was the small matter of cheating on Finn. Sure, Quinn and Rachel hadn't come anywhere near doing anything that could be considered physically cheating, but Quinn knew that her mind had cheated with Rachel numerous times, and Santana voicing the accusation just brought home to her what a dangerous path she was treading. She couldn't lose Finn. Couldn't lose being a Cheerio. Couldn't give Santana anything that would let her take Quinn's life away.

"What do you want from me?" Quinn asked in a defeated tone, and Santana knew she'd won.

"I want you to act like the winner you are, Q. I want you to put that mouth breathing loser back in her place, and I want you to make damn sure she knows where she stands with you – at our feet, bowing to us."

Because part of remaining on top, was making sure that there was someone to be on the bottom, and Santana knew Rachel was it.

With a heavy heart, Quinn resigned herself to the fact that whatever it was that had been building between her and Rachel, it was over now. Over, before it ever had a chance to be... whatever it was going to be.

Later that afternoon when Rachel smiled at Quinn as they passed in the hallway, Quinn almost smiled back. Then, seeing the look on Santana's face, she rearranged her features into her trademark sneer and snapped "Who let you out of your cage, Stubbles?"

The insult hit Rachel in the face harder than any slushy Quinn had ever thrown. Rachel's eyes welled up with tears, though she blinked them away quickly – she thought she and Quinn had made such progress, had got past their animosity.

The look on Rachel's face tore Quinn up inside, but she forced herself to keep walking.

Part Twelve  
If it hadn't been for the lack of slushies and the ache in her chest, Quinn would have thought the last month or so had been a dream.

Every day she was making a conscious effort to do as Santana wanted, to think up fresh and interesting ways to insult Rachel. Rachel had tried once, since Santana had put her foot down, to invite Quinn over for Movie Night again, and Quinn had wanted so damn badly to say yes. But she'd said no. Actually, what she said was "I wouldn't be caught dead at your place, Berry, I might catch the gay." And she'd only said it because Santana was watching from across the hallway, and immediately afterward she'd felt horrible because she'd had to watch Rachel's shoulders slump as she turned and walked away.

Quinn had never hated herself more than she hated herself right now. She hated how weak she was, hated what she'd become, and most of all hated what high school had made her be.

As the days went on, things got a little easier. Santana had loosened up a little when it became apparent she wasn't going to lose her status, Brittany was her usual sweet self, and even Finn was making more of an effort to be romantic (why, Quinn didn't ask. He'd known nothing of what had been happening, the loveable doofus. Perhaps Santana had made him think he'd almost lost Quinn?)

And it wasn't so bad, Quinn told herself. It wasn't as if people had gone back to throwing slushies at Rachel, or at anyone for that matter, She could tell herself she'd been responsible for ending the colored, flavored ice's reign of terror at McKinley High. And she and Rachel had never been friends to begin with, right? And you can't lose what you never had.

Only, Quinn _did _feel like she'd lost something. So she contented herself with just doing her best to avoid Rachel. Making an effort not to see the brunette was one way of not having to think about what she was missing.

Rachel was, in a word, miserable.

Stupidly, she'd thought things had gotten better. She should have known that Quinn Fabray showing any sign of compassion and friendship wouldn't last. In fact, she wouldn't have been at all surprised if this had all been a huge, elaborate prank to make her feel even worse about the taunts and insults.

She wished like anything she believed that. It was so much easier to think that Quinn had been evil all along, than to think of what she had potentially lost.

The worst was that Rachel still harbored feelings for the blond, still held out a tiny sliver of hope that this latest phase of torment was some sort of bad dream. That hope was flickering and fading as the days turned into weeks.

Rachel wasn't someone who was prone to a lot of illness. In addition to her morning workout, she took daily vitamins, ate healthy and drank eight glasses of water a day. She wasn't someone who got sick at the drop of a hat. If the weight on her mind hadn't been keeping her awake nights, she wouldn't have got so run down, and perhaps she never would have got sick. But she did, and when she woke up that Wednesday morning when a scratchy throat, a dripping nose, a jackhammer in her head and an elephant on her chest, her fathers didn't think twice about letting her stay home.

Rachel lay back down in bed and tried to forget about the steaming dung heap that her life had become, and fell into a fitful sleep.

Avoiding Rachel at school had become such a habit for Quinn that it wasn't until halfway through the day she realized the brunette hadn't shown up. It was a little surprising to her how much that bothered her. When she thought about it, she supposed that it was one thing for her to _choose _not to see Rachel (ha. As if the choice had been her own). It was quite another thing not to be _able _to see Rachel.

Quinn made up her mind. She wasn't going to do this anymore, wasn't going to be the meek and mild subservient sheep for Santana. She was going to stand up to the Latina, tell her that Rachel wasn't so bad, order her to lay off the insults and be nice to Rachel for once.

Ha, ha. A nervous giggle escaped the blond. Just because she'd found the courage to admit to herself that she missed having Rachel around, didn't mean she'd found the courage for anything else. She didn't have the courage to stand up to Santana. She didn't have the courage to make people be nice to Rachel, at the possible expense of her own status, no, Quinn wasn't nearly ready to give up her place as high school royalty. And she didn't have the courage to define what it was exactly about Rachel that she missed.

But fabricating a dentist appointment to get herself out of last period and Cheerio practice without Santana even batting an eyelid (the Latina had even given her a hug of sympathy at hearing how Quinn had to go. Santana _hated _dentists), getting in her car and driving over to the Berry house?

Quinn had courage enough for this.

She just hoped Rachel didn't hate her _too _much for being such a coward for so long.


	3. Act Three: The Way Things Change

**Title: **Evolution

**Author:** Lucy

**Pairing: **Rachel/Quinn

**Rating: **PG for swears, nothing else

I love hearing when people like my stories, but I also like hearing what people like about them specifically :) and feedback is love, so love me, okay?

Part Thirteen  
It was interesting to Quinn how a drive that usually took seven minutes, tops, felt like it took her about an hour. She freely admitted to herself that she missed Rachel, and that Rachel being away sick was a rare enough occurrence that Quinn felt worried about her.

Standing outside the Berry house, she knocked softly, and the door was answered by Leroy Berry. Quinn wasn't surprised that he didn't exactly look thrilled to see her. She might have come over a couple of times and started to redeem herself, her behavior and renewed torment of Rachel over the past few weeks wouldn't have earned her many brownie points, as it were. But she smiled nervously at the man, and told him she was there to give Rachel her homework. One lie could hardly make her look worse than she already did, right?

He stood back, let her in, and pointed her up the stairs and to the right. She didn't miss the fact that he was regarding her seriously as she walked slowly in the direction of Rachel's room.

It wasn't until she was standing outside Rachel's door (it wasn't pink, thank goodness, but it did have a big gold star with the singer's name in glittery letters) that Quinn realized she'd never been in Rachel's room. Leroy was still standing at the bottom of the stairs, and perhaps sensing her hesitation, thawed slightly and gave her an encouraging smile. Quinn took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Rachel didn't answer, but Quinn opened the door anyway at Leroy's nod. She could see before she even entered the room that Rachel was fast asleep, burrowed in the blankets with only her head sticking out, and Quinn smiled, the tingles back in her stomach. She took a few steps in, shut the door behind her, and looked around.

She and the other Cheerios had often laughingly speculated on what Rachel's room might look like. They'd suggested that she used a lot of pink, that she probably had statues of Barbra Streisand littered around the place and stars all over the walls... the reality of Rachel Berry's room was a lot different than anyone had expected. The walls were a soft yellow, the decoration tasteful and minimal, and apart from the elliptical in the corner there wasn't really much that made it stand out from an average teenager's bedroom.

Rachel being Rachel, there was a set of shelves displaying her various trophies and awards, and a handful of framed photographs, and Quinn padded quietly over to look, casting a quick glance at the bed to make sure Rachel was still sleeping. The collection was impressive - she forgot sometimes that as much as they made fun of her, Rachel was seriously talented. Quinn turned her attention to the photos.

Among the photos of Rachel with her various clubs and groups was a candid shot of the original six kids of Glee club, which Quinn picked up to take a closer look at. Obviously taken by Mr. Schuester, it was of the six of them just relaxing. Quinn's eyes flickered over Kurt, Mercedes and Tina huddled together with their cell phones out, texting and laughing, Finn standing at the piano, singing with his eyes closed, and Rachel sitting with Artie. Artie had clearly said something funny, because Rachel was laughing, her mouth curved in a grin and her eyes shining, and Quinn felt a tug in her stomach. She put the photo back carefully on the shelf and walked over to the bed.

What on earth she thought she was doing, she had no idea, but she looked down at Rachel again and couldn't help the smile. She bent to tuck a lock of hair behind Rachel's ear, which reminded her just how soft Rachel's hair was, which of course reminded her of her time spent helping Rachel to clean slushy out of her hair. The tug in her stomach got stronger and without thinking too much, she bent a little further and pressed her lips gently to Rachel's forehead.

Rachel didn't stir, and Quinn straightened up and crept back out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

Part Fourteen  
Quinn came back downstairs to find Leroy Berry sitting at the table with two cups of coffee. Wordlessly, he offered one to her, and wordlessly she accepted, sitting down at the table with him. She didn't look him in the eye, but she knew he was regarding her seriously, and when he offered her something to eat, she accepted quietly and politely, still sitting at the table, hands clasped around her coffee cup.

Leroy stood and moved to assemble grilled cheese sandwiches, and his back was to her when he spoke.

"Rachel's other father and I have heard a lot about you over the years, Quinn." His tone was mild, non accusatory, but Quinn found herself wincing anyway. She knew her behavior toward Rachel had been inexcusable, and she hated the way she had behaved. She had no idea how to express that to Rachel's father, though, without it looking scripted, trite and dishonest. Leroy didn't turn around, choosing to concentrate on slicing cheese as he continued to speak. It made it easier for Quinn to listen, lessening the urge she felt to stand and run from this, most uncomfortable of conversations.

"You know," Leroy went on in the same mild, conversational tone, "Rachel doesn't know this, but her father and I have been listening to her cry herself to sleep almost every night since she started high school. It's not something we've enjoyed hearing."

Quinn still didn't speak, but slid down further in her seat, her cheeks red. She knew! She knew she'd been a total shit to Rachel. But she supposed that sitting through this was the beginning of atonement.

"We didn't bring Rachel up to be weak, Quinn. We taught her to be strong, not to care about bullies and horrible narrow minded people, because Whoever you believe is up there, they will deal with the bad things. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, I mean... Well, I'm sorry, I... no?" Quinn spluttered. She thought she had understood what Leroy was saying, until his last sentence. The conversation had taken a turn for the unexpected.

Finally, Leroy turned, holding two plates with grilled cheese sandwiches on them. "I'm saying, for Rachel to get so worked up over you and the things you did to her, you can't have just been your average bully. She obviously cares more about you and the things you do." He cut her off before she could speak. "You're obviously special enough, mean enough to her, that she cares very deeply about the hurt you've caused. Cares deeply enough to cry over you every night."

Quinn thought that was a bit much. She was hardly the only person who had persecuted Rachel over the years. What was to say that it wasn't Santana Rachel was crying over every night? But even as she formed the words to put them to Leroy, she closed her mouth again. She, Quinn, was also the only person who had spent a month being nice to Rachel, gaining trust she didn't deserve, only to turn on her and be horrible again. Quinn didn't speak, because whatever Leroy was about to say, Quinn knew she deserved every harsh word of the truth.

But chastising Quinn wasn't what he had set out to do. He looked her in the eye, and kept talking, on a seemingly unrelated topic. "We also taught Rachel about love, Quinn. When she was a little girl, we spent a considerable amount of time making sure she knew that love is love is love, no matter who it is, what form it takes, or what gender the body it lives in. Rachel's father and I are very much in love, and that's a beautiful thing. We taught Rachel that no matter who she falls in love with, be it a man or a woman, we would never be disappointed in her, that we would always love her, and that love is _never wrong_." He looked Quinn in the eye as he said this last, and Quinn felt the prickling of tears in her eyes, but she blinked them away quickly.

"But God-" she began.

"Created us, His children, and wants us to be happy," Leroy cut her off, sensing exactly what her objection to his words had been. "Is the seminal bastion of love, and as such is hardly likely to begrudge us that love, wherever we may find it. Created me, knows of my love for Hiram, and loves me no less. Created you, Quinn. Knows you. Loves you."

He hadn't set out to make this conversation about God, but if that was the only way to get through to this girl, then he would take it. Nothing he said was untrue, and he could tell by the look on Quinn's face that he had hit home with his message.

Quinn stood on shaky legs, leaving her untouched sandwich on the table. "I have to go," she stammered, her fight or flight response finally kicking in and demanding that she run.

"We'll be seeing you," said Leroy quietly as the blond girl fled.

Out in the car, Quinn let herself cry. She couldn't listen. She couldn't take in Leroy's words. It was too much, too different, too wrong to her. Her feelings for Rachel couldn't be love. She couldn't deal with it.

But the seeds of knowledge had been planted...

Part Fifteen  
After sitting in her car and crying for a few minutes, Quinn wiped her eyes and drove off. She didn't understand why things had to be so hard, why this had to happen to her now, at what was the worst possible time. Why couldn't she have waited until college to question her sexuality? Why did Rachel have to be so intriguing? And why had she been such a shit to Rachel, making it somehow all the more important that she, Quinn, make it up to the girl?

What Quinn needed more than anything was a return to normalcy. She pulled out her cellphone and called Santana.

"Slumber party tonight?" she said, hating how small and desperate her voice sounded. And perhaps Santana picked up on it, because she agreed quickly, passing the message on to Brittany who was of course right by her side. Quinn couldn't remember a time when this hadn't been the case, since the day they met in sixth grade.

When she got home her mother was well into her afternoon drinks. When Quinn told her about Santana and Brittany sleeping over, she was met with a grunt of acknowledgment and the news that her father was working late again.

Quinn's bed was too small to fit the three of them comfortably, so for sleepovers the den was the venue of choice. Because it had a couple of pull out couches, it could fit up to four or five Cheerios at a pinch, and Quinn had taken advantage of this a number of times. As the captain, it was her duty to promote goodwill amongst the team members, was it not?

If Santana noticed anything off about Quinn's behavior when she and Brittany arrived, half an hour later, she didn't say anything, but Quinn saw Brittany eye her curiously a couple of times. They spent a slightly strained evening talking about movies, music and other non-threatening topics, and went to bed pretty early for a slumber party.

Quinn lay awake for a long time after the three of them had stopped talking. She had a lot on her mind, after her talk with Leroy Berry that afternoon, and thinking about what his words had meant for her. Of course, a big part of why she was so reluctant to face up to what she was feeling was lying on a pull out couch five feet away – Santana had seemed to against the idea of her being "gay for Rachel" even if she had only been taunting Quinn at the time.

Later, much later when the other two had been quiet and still for a long time, Quinn was just beginning to doze off when she was brought back to consciousness by a rustling. Keeping her eyes closed, she listened a little, thinking it was just one or the other of them turning over, and her ears were met with hushed whispers. She couldn't hear every word, but she heard enough.

"...asleep?"

"Yeah... quiet... get caught."

Quinn opened her eyes just in time to see Brittany rise up onto her elbows, sliding her upper body on top of Santana's, and bring their lips together.

Though her cheeks were so red they threatened to burst into flame, Quinn couldn't take her eyes off the sight in front of her. For at least a couple of long minutes, she watched as Brittany and Santana traded long, languid kisses. And it definitely wasn't the first time, by the look of things.

As Quinn watched the scene, she found herself taking in the details slowly. First, and most obviously, the sight of the two cheerleaders kissing. Objectively Quinn observed what a beautiful contrast they made, Santana's dark to Brittany's light, their very skin and hair mirroring their natures. Their lips moved together in a dance even more practiced than a Cheerio routine, and Quinn caught glimpses of their tongues tangling.

The sounds made her blush even harder, if that were possible. The press of lips, the rustle of bedding, Brittany's little moans of contentment... and the absolutely unexpected high pitched whimper Santana let out when Brittany was sucking on her neck. She begged, literally begged Brittany to do it again, and Quinn saw the grin on the blond's face as she teased Santana.

Quinn would never have expected Brittany to be the dominant personality in this duo. Of course, up until now she wouldn't have expected Brittany and Santana to be in the relationship they obviously were in.

For a a tiny, weak moment, Quinn allowed herself to imagine what it would be like if it were her and Rachel, not Brittany and Santana, lying on a couch kissing. In an instant, the heat from her cheeks rushed between her legs and she stifled a moan, vowing never to think about that again (not when she had company, anyway).

Her moan was like cold water on the two across the room and they parted, lying back down quietly. Quinn could see Santana's hand sneak out and take Brittany's. Could see them smile at each other with expressions that couldn't be called anything other than loving. And for the first time since she'd began inadvertently witnessing this scene, Quinn began to feel angry.

Part Sixteen  
In the morning, Quinn took her chance to confront Santana. She didn't want to upset Brittany, the blond girl was sweetness and light personified, and though she might not have had the best academic standing, her sense for people was unparalleled. So Quinn held on to her anger, not letting Brittany figure anything out, until she was safely out of the way in the shower. Then she turned on Santana.

"You hypocritical bitch," she snarled, taking Santana completely by surprise.

"What are you talking about, Q?" Santana asked, having the good grace to look nervous, though she tried to hide it.

"You had the gall to bitch at me about 'being gay for Rachel', as you so eloquently put it, as if there were something wrong with it! And all this time you and Brittany... what the hell _are _you and Brittany doing anyway?"

Closing her eyes briefly, Santana took a deep breath. "Q, I..."

But Quinn wasn't done yet. "I thought we were friends, San. Why would you make me feel so damn bad about myself for something like this, when all along you were doing the exact same thing? Why is it okay for you, but not okay for me?"

Finally, Santana took a step forward and covered Quinn's mouth with her hand. "Q, listen to me. I don't care if you wanna go gay, just _not. With. Her_."

Sensing that she had shut Quinn up sufficiently for her to continue, she went on. "She's a mouth breathing, bottom dwelling, painfully obnoxious _loser_, and while your stock has sufficient value to maintain through a sexuality scandal, I honestly don't know if you could come back from an affair with Berry."

Quinn scowled. "You know she's really not that bad, San. She's one of the nicest, kindest, most forgiving people I've ever met. We've done nothing but treat her like shit for years -"

"-because she deserves it-"

"No she doesn't!" Quinn shouted, and finally, finally she found the strength within her to stand up for this, most important moment she could ever remember. "She doesn't! She never did! She's a little intense, sure, and she talks a lot, but God, Santana. She got picked to be the scapegoat. How would it be if you'd been picked, for no reason other than you were standing in the wrong place on the first day of school?"

Santana snorted, as if to say she wouldn't care.

"What if it had been Brittany?" Quinn asked softly, and watched the color drain from Santana's face.

"I don't like Berry, Q." But Santana had nothing else. The wind had been well and truly taken out of her sails.

"You don't have to like her. You just have to stop being such a bitch to her."

The two sat in silence, regarding each other for a long moment.

"So you're really hot for Berry?" Santana asked finally.

Quinn blushed, but kept her gaze locked on Santana as she answered. "I wouldn't say it in quite those words, but there's... I think there's something. You and Brittany, huh?"

"I love her, Q." The look on Santana's face said it all.

"Does... does she know? I mean, have you guys said it?" Quinn asked curiously.

Santana shook her head, bottom lip between her teeth. Thankfully, they were saved from any further deep and meaningful conversation by Brittany bounding down the stairs, freshly washed and dressed in a skirt and tank top. One eye on Quinn, Santana held her arms out for Brittany, who went to her willingly.

"Quinn knows about us," Santana told her quietly, and Brittany smiled widely.

"Does this mean I don't have to wait for Quinn to be asleep before I can kiss you now?" she asked Santana brightly, and Quinn laughed and nodded, answering for Santana.

"Sure, go for your life," she said, and Brittany bent slightly and kissed Santana on the cheek, then turned back to Quinn.

"And does this mean you're going to talk to Rachel soon?" she asked in her uncannily perceptive way.

Indeed. Quinn didn't answer then, didn't know what it was she was going to do. But that afternoon, after Santana and Brittany had gone home, Quinn sat on her bed, cellphone in hand, and typed out a message to Rachel.

CAN I COME OVER?

Part Seventeen  
YEAH OKAY

The drive to Rachel's house was just as tense as the drive the day before had been. Only this time, Quinn knew, Rachel would be awake, and talking would happen. She wouldn't be able to just snoop through Rachel's photographs, kiss her forehead, and sneak back out. This was actually happening.

Between Santana and Brittany leaving her house, and sending Rachel the message, Quinn had had quite a bit of time to think. Mostly, after she'd had the initial panic about finally admitting to someone (and herself) that she felt something for Rachel, her thoughts had revolved around the kisses she had witnessed between Brittany and Santana, and how she wanted to have that with Rachel.

How liberating, she pondered, to be able to admit that she _wanted _that with Rachel.

She pulled up outside the house, entered without knocking, waved to Hiram and Leroy, and went up to Rachel's room.

She paused outside the door, steeling herself.

She knocked.

"Come in," Rachel called, and on suddenly unsteady knees, Quinn entered. She made her way to the bed, and quickly sat down before her knocking knees could give away how nervous she was.

"I want to talk to you," she said quietly, and Rachel nodded. "I, um..."

She had no idea how she was supposed to bring this up. What was she supposed to say? "Oh hey, I've been treating you like shit again, but it turns out I want to make out with you"? She'd get laughed out of the room, and she'd be lucky if she was allowed back in the house.

"Rachel, I..." she tried again. "I'm sorry."

Rachel laughed, soft and sarcastic. "You're sorry. Again." Inside, she was quietly cheering that Quinn was back in her house. Honestly, she'd missed the blond, missed their burgeoning friendship, and her feelings hadn't changed. She was hurt, and disappointed that Quinn had seemed to regress, but hope springs eternal. That didn't mean she was going to hand Quinn forgiveness on a silver platter again, like she basically had the first time around.

"Yeah, I am," Quinn said sincerely. "I got scared, I..." This wasn't going the way she had imagined it going. In her head, she'd walked in the door, apologized, declared her feelings and they'd ended up making out for the rest of the afternoon. One look at Rachel's hurt face told her that things weren't going to play out that way at all.

"Listen, Rachel... I need to be honest."

"You can't be friends with me because it's bad for your image, I get it. Why did you even come here?" Rachel made sure her voice sounded angry and upset, but on the inside it was a different matter.

"No!" Quinn stopped her. "Rachel, I... I like you."

"You _like _me?" Rachel asked, honestly incredulous. "Friends don't treat friends the way you did, Quinn. If you like me, like you say you do, you've got a funny way of showing it!"

Hell if this wasn't so damn much easier in the movies. "No, you idiot, I _like _you!" she snapped. "I have _feelings _for you, I..." she trailed off. Oh, no. Oh, _no_. She hadn't planned to say that so soon, hadn't planned on letting that out at quite this juncture, and certainly not in that manner...

And Rachel had stopped talking, was just looking at her with an expression that Quinn couldn't read. Quinn didn't know what else to do, she leaned in to kiss Rachel.

Rachel leaned back, pulling away so fast she almost fell off the bed. "What the _hell_, Quinn?" she exclaimed. "This... you can't just walk in here and try to kiss me after the way you've treated me!"

Rachel wished so damn badly that she could just give in to this, give in to Quinn, kiss her and have everything else fall into place. But Quinn had behaved really badly, and for her to just roll over and kiss Quinn was to send the message that it was okay to behave like a bitch when things got hard, when she got scared.

"You like me?" Rachel asked. "You _hurt _me, Quinn. I thought we were friends. You were so nice, for all you were such a bitch before. And I... I can't do this, Quinn. For all I know Santana's standing outside the room taping everything I say, and Brittany's somewhere in the room with a video camera, and it's going to be all over the school that I told you I like you back."

"You... you like me back?" Quinn said, feeling hopeful for the first time since Rachel had opened her mouth.

"Yeah," Rachel said softly.

"Well, if I like you, and you like me..." Quinn trailed off, leaning in again. Rachel pulled away again.

"It's not enough, Quinn."

Rachel stood. "It's just... it's not enough. I think you should go."

Quinn left quietly and drove home, not looking back. If she had, she would have seen the regret on Rachel's face. She let herself in her house, walked up to her room, and closed the door behind her. Reaching up, she took down the picture of Jesus and put it face down in the drawer with her bible. Then she let herself cry.

Part Eighteen  
Knowing Rachel the way she did, Quinn knew that it would take some sort of grand gesture to get Rachel to come around. The problem was, what sort of grand gesture? She thought of flowers, of candy, but she doubted that those things would work. Rachel was a traditional girl, but she was also a big fan of the grandiose, the magical, the musical.

It was in Spanish class when it came to Quinn in a flash of inspiration. She turned in her seat, to face Rachel who was sitting diagonally behind her, to her right, and opened her mouth.

"_Oh yeah, I'll tell you something," _Quinn sang softly, her heart beating faster as Rachel looked up from her worksheet, fixing her eyes on Quinn.

"_I think you'll understand  
When I say that something  
__I wanna hold your hand..."_

Santana and Brittany popped up from nowhere, joining her on the chorus.

"_I wanna hold your hand  
I wanna hold your hand."_

And now suddenly the whole class was in on it, humming and swaying in the background – even Mr. Schuester was beating out a rhythm on his desk – and Quinn went for it in earnest.

"_Oh please, say to me  
You'll let me be your... girl" _Quinn winked at Rachel, as she changed the words to the song slightly. Rachel seemed into it, looking excited and flattered as Quinn serenaded her in front of the entire class. If she thought it was odd that the entire class was apparently in on it, and knew the words, harmonies and choreography seemingly spontaneously, she didn't let on.

"_And please, say to me  
You'll let me hold your hand  
Now let me hold your hand  
I wanna hold your hand."_

Quinn really let herself go, getting out of her seat and using it as a stepping stool to get up on her desk, singing down to a besotted looking Rachel.

"_And when I touch you I feel happy inside  
It's such a feeling that my love I can't hide  
I can't hide  
I can't hide..."_

Mike and Matt were dancing, _dancing _in the aisles, really working it. Quinn wondered idly why all school couldn't be this way, musical, spontaneous, bright, colorful and entertaining. Going for what would be her finale, she took a deep breath and launched into the end of her song.

"_Yeah you, got that something  
I think you'll understand  
When I say that something  
I wanna hold your hand...  
I wanna hold your hand  
I wanna hold your hand."_

Quinn jumped down off the desk and knelt at Rachel's feet, looking up at her hopefully. As the rest of the class got back into their seats and resumed their worksheets as if nothing had happened, and Mr. Schuester similarly turned back to the blackboard, Quinn looked deep into Rachel's eyes and smiled. "I wanna hold your hand, Rachel," she said softly.

"Oh, wow," Rachel began. "Quinn..."

"Quinn? Quinn?" Rachel's voice changed until it was altogether more manly than Rachel could ever hope to sound, and Quinn opened her eyes to find Mr. Schuester standing over her, looking like he couldn't decide if he was worried or angry. "Quinn? Are you okay?"

Shaking her head to clear the remnants of her dream out of it, Quinn nodded. "I'm fine, Mr. Schue," she reassured him. She couldn't resist a glance back at Rachel – the brunette was pretending to be busily filling in her worksheet, but Quinn caught her sneaking a look at what was going on.

The whole song and dance routine had been a stupid fantasy, a daydream, and Quinn was back to square one as far as figuring out what to do. The bell rang and the class filed quietly out. Quinn hung back, let most of the other kids go in front of her, thinking hard about the dream she'd just had and about what she was going to do.

As she exited the classroom, she spotted Rachel walking in front of her and made up her mind. She had no plan per se, just a need for Rachel to understand how far she'd come. She quickened her step and caught up to Rachel, falling into step with her.

"Hey," she said quietly. Rachel's expression was unreadable.

"Quinn," she greeted calmly. "Can I help you?"

Quinn didn't say anything. She didn't have to. In the hallway, in full view of the majority of the student body, Quinn Fabray slipped her hand into Rachel Berry's, and laced their fingers together.

Rachel's face lit up in pleasure, disbelief, and something approaching awe, though she kept her eyes on her shoes.

Quinn took a deep breath, ignoring the stares and gasps of the other students, and squeezed Rachel's hand. This was it. The cat was out of the bag now. There wouldn't be any going back from a gesture like this, not for Quinn. But she didn't care, finally she didn't care. Rachel's hand in hers was soft, warm, and sent those tingles she'd been craving up her arm and right through her body and God, it felt good.

And when she felt Rachel's hand squeeze back, she couldn't stop her face from breaking out in a blinding grin.

FIN


End file.
